Fire of Sin
by Rinusagitora
Summary: Darkfic. Multichapter. HitsuKarin. Slave!AU, demon!Karin warlock!Hitsugaya. Rated M for violence, torture, and explicit suicide.
1. Voco

**A/N:** This is one of my older AUs, and my friend Siri convinced me to rewrite it. She's a darkfic enabler.  
IMPORTANT: Hardly anybody is referred to by name in this AU because there's a name-change later on. I'll list the changes every chapter  
Toushirou Hitsugaya- Shirou Hinamori in dialogue  
Karin Kurosaki- the Queen in narraration, Lilith Shiba in dialogue  
Luppi Antenor- the estate master's son in narration and dialogue

* * *

The estate master's son, three weeks prior, had picked out a new personal servant from the array of slaves available from the fields. His previous servant had died of asphyxiation, she'd officially hanged herself in his room, but it was another shitty cover up. The estate master's son had strangled her- he liked to do such- and he needed a new girl to torment then.

The new girl was slave number one hundred sixty-eight. And three weeks later, she was dead.

Officially, slave number one hundred sixty-eight had passed away from an accident in the kitchen. She'd cooked her master a late night meal when a heavy pot fell on her head, cracked her skull, and she bled to death on the floor. That was the official statement. However, the idea was ludicrous. The pots were _always_ secured and hardly heavy enough to kill a person in a single blow.

No, slave number sixty-eight, Momo Hinamori- his dearest sister- had not died as a result of an accident, she'd died at the estate master's son's hands just like the servants before her. He'd beat her to death with one of the pots. It wasn't any secret, the man-child hadn't a shred of empathy for any organism on their plane of existence, and especially not for slaves. And he wished, _damn_ did he wish that he could've done something about it.

But he couldn't, he was powerless, and when he realized it right after the news spread, his will to live perished with her. But from his helplessness and loss was conceived hatred so strong he never could've articulated it even if he was as literate as his masters. And he was sure he never could've satiated the beast that rooted itself in him.

It was then, at fourteen years old, that he decided he would avenge his sister. And he would've done anything to do so even if it killed him in the end. He hardly cared about himself by then, not without his reason to go on with his god-forsaken existence. He'd sold his soul to any monster however depraved to exact revenge.

He taught himself how to read first. He taught himself what the labels in the kitchen meant and then applied the patterns to the books he stole from the library. He'd learned enough from the kitchen that if he didn't understand something he looked it up in the dictionary. In under a year, he was literate, and then he taught himself magick, ice magick. It seemed appropriate, by then he was a cold, emotionless husk of who he used to be when his sister lived; a frosty desert that buried his potent grief under a thick layer of apathy.

Though he originally intended to kill the estate master's son himself, his father made him promise to stay with them until they died because they would've gone mad if they lost the only family they had left. Although his father wasn't his reason to live, he refused to perpetuate the cycle of loss. He refused to leave an old man in a merciless world without any support, and if he went after the estate master's son himself there was a strong possibility he would've been persecuted and executed.

In his research, he discovered demons and their influence over magick, as well as the carnage they wrought. A demon, he knew, would've been perfect for his plan. They were resilient and a demon wasn't even a part of their realm so any evidence of the culprit would've lead to a dead end. So he researched everything he could've gotten his hands on from the estate master's library. He needed to be prepared, a demon was like a natural disaster if one didn't know what to do and how to control it, and he wasn't one to take unnecessary risks. Not when it came to his vengeance.

He was ready when he was seventeen, when he'd finessed his magick to create semi-animated golems. He could've contained the beast that was a demon.

So, late in the night, he snuck out of the slave quarters and into the main house, and it was there in the abandoned wing he searched for a suitable room for the ritual. It was the perfect atmosphere to summon a demon in his opinion. It was dark, bleak, colorless, and from the dust and the lack of decor it was safe to assume it was scarcely, if ever, travelled. And it was likely because the stench of death was so thick in that wing.

Yes, he thought, such rankness over the area was that of death. He'd grown familiar with it over his life as a slave. Death was regular, weekly almost, and although unpleasant, by then he was completely desensitized to it and its accompanied abhorrent smells. But it upset him. It reaffirmed the selfishness of his masters, their disregard for life if they abandoned an entire wing because of a body. It wouldn't have been hard to bury it.

He found the corpse eventually, in a large, barren room. It was huddled in the corner, grey and leathery, long since mummified and blanketed in cobwebs.

And it made his blood boil; the tattered, moth-eaten sack it wore. They, too, were murdered and their body abandoned like they were a rat. The cruelty of their masters knew no bounds, he thought as the rage of his sister's own murder boiled to the surface. He was near tempted to let it overtake him and just let himself kill the estate master's son, his own life be damned.

But he had work to do. The room was perfectly suitable for his needs and he didn't want to waste more time. So he ignored the corpse, shrugged off his satchel, set the chamberstick with its candle on the floor, and lowered himself to his knees. He drew a wide, elaborate circle with a stick of charcoal on the ground to open a gateway, and then he placed candles- dyed black with ink he stole- around its perimeter. He then sat on his legs before it, fished out two more candles, froze them to his palms, and he lit those with the candle from the chamberstick before he held his palms to the ceiling.

He began to chant, and the room grew hot. He felt sweat drip down his temple and sides, and as the temperature sky-rocketed he felt the air simmer and crackle around him and the wax as it dripped down his arms. The floor inside the circle bled from the coal lines, poured black until it was completely filled like a bottomless pit _._ He would've been afraid if he already hadn't experienced the epitome of despair, of what Hell i _truly_ /i was. No demon could've outmatched the torment he had already been through.

And then a humanoid emerged from the darkness, and it dripped off them like syrup and revealed their physical form; first a sable bob and a jagged tiara atop her crown, then ivory skin, a well-endowed figure, and then a funeral dress and a knife strapped to her thigh. The floor solidified then, a steamy char, but despite that the gate had been closed the air was as heavy and as hot as before.

He watched as the demoness landed on her toes before she peeled open her abyssal eyes, and he lowered his arms, peeled off the wax and set the patties aside. She blinked then, tilted her head to the side as her attention focused on him, and the demoness's lips turned down.

"A child." She stated. "A child summoned me." She snorted then, rest her fists akimbo and chuckled humorlessly. "Surely this is a joke."

He felt his eyebrow twitch then, he didn't appreciate the 'child' comment nor that he was a joke. "No, it isn't. I've summoned you, and you will do my bidding. And you will not refer to me as 'child' or any derivative of it. My name is Shirou Hinamori, and you will refer to me as such."

She barked out a laugh then, and it pierced through his ears and jarred him to his sense of self. She wheezed as she doubled-over, wiped mahogany tears from her eyes. "Oh _please,_ " she sighed, and then whipped up and glared at him through thick lashes and she _snarled_ like a beast. "Listen here you insolent _brat_ _,_ " She spat. "I am the queen of Hell, Lilith Shiba. I have a throne to maintain, I don't have time to humor some kid's petty schemes. Now if you'll kindly stay still, I'm going to kill you so I can return to my homeland."

He watched her as she flexed her hands, curled her fingers like talons, and fire as abyssal as her eyes manifested around her fists. She clapped her hands together, and he quickly responded, threw up an icy cocoon around himself before her explosion incinerated him, and then, before either of them blinked, he froze her legs up to her hips and her hands in motion. He stood then, lowered the wall he materialized and sauntered over to her. The Queen was wide-eyed, stared down at her frozen form in bewilderment.

"M-my hellfire…" she stammered weakly. "Oh god, you _froze_ my Hellfire like it was nothing _._ "

He cupped her cheeks then, pulled her face up to look at him. "Will you help me now? Or do I have to freeze you into submission?"'

The Queen shook her head then. He thawed the ice that held her and the frost that had branched on the walls, and he caught her as her knees gave out and helped her to her feet.

"What do you need done?" She inquired, pushed away from him and combed her fingers through her hair. "Let's get this over with."


	2. Designato

**A/N:** I have no idea why I split this into chapters when it's so short. Just felt weird as a oneshot.

Toushirou Hitsugaya: Shirou Hinamori & Master in-dialogue

Karin Kurosaki: Lilith Shiba in-dialogue, the Queen in narration

Luppi Antenor: the estate master's son in dialogue and narration

* * *

"Now then," he said, and the Queen sauntered over to the corpse and bent over to look, and his eyebrow twitched. "Ignore it and listen to me." He snarled.

"Poor fool's stuck." She snorted, completely ignored him, and he grit his teeth. "How long have you been in there? Stuck inside a rotten cage, you can't even lament your lonesomeness. Come here, I'll hold you so you may weep." The Queen lit her fingertips aflame, and she incinerated the cobwebs that carpeted the corpse and sat beside the leathery skeleton. She pulled it into her lap, laid its head on her bosom and rocked as she cradled it, and she stroked its temple with her knuckles.

"Just what are you doing?" He inquired flatly.

"This poor soul is trapped inside her body. She just needs some company, I'm sure you can sympathize. I still have ears so I can listen, and she's so quiet I'm sure she won't be much of a distraction." She said.

He pursed his lips, but he dismissed it and sat in front of her, and he reached into his satchel and spread a map between them before he pointed at their location.

"Currently, we sit in an abandoned wing of the main house. As the estate master's son's personal servant has, again, been murdered, he'll be picking a new one in the morning. The slaves will line up here." He pointed at an empty spot near the fields far behind the manor before his finger returned to their location and traced a pathway to a staircase. "If you take this route, then the stairs will lead directly to the ground floor near an exit and you'll be out virtually unseen." He explained. "Make sure you're chosen when the estate master's son is selecting, I assume you can do at least that much, then lure him here and inflict _pain_ on him like he's never known." He pulled out a sketch of the estate master's son and showed it to her. "This is him, but it would be difficult to miss him even without a reference. He's loud and obnoxious."

The Queen frowned. "Your plan has so many holes in it I can't tell between it and a sponge." She snorted. "What if he doesn't choose me? Hm? I may use magick, but I'm not a divinator, and I'm not a puppeteer. I may have to resort to what you humans call _extreme measures_."

He frowned then. "Well, if you have a better plan, speak up."

"Naturally, and one far less bound for failure. I could sneak into his room late at night when all is still, dismiss his servant, and then drag him here under the cover of darkness. It's far simpler and less dependent on luck." The Queen grinned as she explained, her eyes curved into narrow crescents and her smile far too genuine under the circumstances to to not disturb him, even with his callous demeanor. "No need to fear for your request, however. I'm renowned for my eclecticism. I'll use anything at my disposal to instill absolute fear and hopelessness in him." She turned to the corpse she cradled then, and her smile softened. "Oh? Worry not, my dearest, I'm not here to hurt your loved ones. Just a bad apple out of the bushel, I promise."

It was strange, he thought, how giddy she was to end a life and how compassionate she was to the undead. Demons truly loved death in all its forms, and it would've frightened him if he wasn't so heartless himself by then.

He sighed. "Can you get her to move on?" He inquired. "I'm doubtful she wants to linger for much longer, especially around our talk of murder."

"No, only she can do such. As unfortunate as it is, not even a being as strong as myself can cure the potency of human emotion that binds them to this plane." She responded, and he frowned. "Now that all that's relevant has been worked out, sate my curiosity. Why do you ask this of me? You're one hell of a warlock, I'm sure you could do this yourself without difficulty."

He frowned then. It was hard for him to even recall it, let alone speak of it. But she deserved to know, he thought, since he made her exact his revenge. "My sister was murdered by the estate master's son." He said, and he clenched his jaw to calm himself. "It was covered up, naturally, because slave lives aren't worth shit in this kingdom, but I refuse to let my sister's murderer go free simply because he's valued more that her in this shit society. As much as I'd _love_ to exact revenge myself, I have my father to care for and I can't risk not being beside him in his last hours." He explained, dug his nails into his palms as his frustration boiled to the surface, and he blinked away his tears. "I hate the estate master's son, I hate him with every iota of my being. I look forward to seeing him begging you to let him live like I'm sure he made my dearest Momo beg."

"No need to fret, o' Master. Agony is what I _live_ for." She purred.

The Queen gently sat the corpse aside, and she stood and stretched. "Give me your clothes." She said, and he nearly choked. "What? Do you really think I look like a slave in this? I stand out like a sore thumb. Take it off, o' Master, I ensure you'll survive in the nude for however long it takes me to bring your master's son here." The Queen sighed in her exasperation. "Warlocks are even more pathetic than I recall. What ever happened to the days of Genryuusai Yamamoto? Or is it just cryomancers that are pathetic?"

He glared at the Queen as he shrugged out of his wrap and tossed the ball of fabric at her. "Your passive-aggressive comments are unamusing and unwanted. Cease and desist."

"Oh, come now, you're taking this too seriously. Enjoy yourself, o' Master, this is a celebration. The scourge of your existence will soon be no longer, and you'll be free to do whatever you so wish." She chuckled as she wrapped his sand-colored robe around herself. If she kept her head down, he thought, she would've blended in perfectly. "I'll be back soon, don't miss me too much." She sneered before she pecked him on the cheek, and she disappeared like a breeze from the room.

He frowned to himself. Demons, he thought, were a pain in the ass.


	3. Cruor

**A/N:** TORTURE TW was so satisfying to write tho, even if it was short. Oh, and there's finally hints of HitsuKarin.

* * *

He frowned after the Queen disappeared. He looked to the corpse, and out of curiosity he closed his eyes and reached out his magick and felt for her soul. She was a miserable mess, her sentience hardly intact amongst the maelstrom of misery. But he breathed a sigh of relief then, the corpse hadn't been anybody he knew.

Though he did wonder if he could've forced them to move on. He was sure an afterlife outside of a decayed corpse would've been much more pleasant.

He frowned to himself then. No, he thought, he wouldn't. He would allow her to move on of her own volition, give her the freedom to choose. He wasn't a slave master, he wouldn't force anybody to do anything they didn't want to do, even if it were foolish not to.

He pushed himself to his feet and paced then, anxiously stretched as he paced. His time was so close, he thought. He almost felt vengeance in his hands like the solid handle of a knife, and his palms itched because of it and eagerness bubbled in his chest like spring water. He'd never felt so _alive_ in his life, he thought, not even when his sister lived. He felt his blood as it rushed through his arteries and his anger simmer under his cool exterior. He wondered what he would've felt when he actually saw the estate master's son, wondered if he his rage would've boiled down his icy walls and if he would've lost any semblance of his sanity and simply killed the fool. He sincerely hoped he could've kept his temper in check so he could watch the estate master's son's slow, _painful_ demise.

The Queen returned as he paced, the estate master's son bound in magick and unconscious. She giggled in her jubilation, and he watched as she bound his arms above him to the ceiling and let him dangle mere centimeters off the floor.

"Do you wish to observe or join me, o' Master?" She purred as her abyssal eyes curved into crescents, and he turned his head as she slipped his robes and her dress off.

"I'd rather watch. I'm sure you're far more creative than I." He said, and he created a seat from his ice and sat in it.

"Excellent, more for me." She turned from him then, and he watched as she slammed her fist into the estate master's son's gut. He jolted awake then with a cry, and Karin giggled as he thrashed in realization.

"Oh hush now, you pathetic whelp. I'm sure you'll quickly realize that escape is futile. You should simply accept your impending fate, you'll be in less pain if you do so." She chuckled as she circled him, and the estate master's son whimpered as she drew her dagger and traced its tip along his stomach, and he immediately _relished_ his tearful terror. "What's your name? I can't call you whelp the entire time, it's insulting to pups."

There was silence from the estate master's son as he hyperventilated, until she sliced open his back. "Answer me you disgusting pile of cow shit!" She bellowed, and he burst into tears.

"I-I'm sorry!" He blubbered. "Please release me, I'll give you as much money as you want!"

"I don't want _money!_ " The Queen laughed. "I want your cries of agony. Now your _name._ " She jabbed him again in his side, and he sobbed.

"L-Luppi. Please, let me go."

"I haven't even started and this pathetic thing is already begging." She laughed as she pushed her dagger up his ribs, and he shrieked as she did. "That's more like it! Oh, if you scream like this, I can't wait for when I get serious." He watched as she licked her lips. "Let's see what I can carve out." She purred as she stood in front of the estate master's son and traced his abdomen with her knife. "I say… your liver."

She slammed the knife into his gut to his hilt, and he watched as the estate master's son screamed. He smiled to himself as he heard blood and flesh squelch, it was truly delicious and just the start, and the Queen whooped and laughed heartily in her ardor.

The estate master's son fell limp then, and she sighed in her disappointment. "Damn, and we were only getting started." She dropped her dagger, and it sunk through the floor to its hilt as she pouted. She ambled lazily to him before she sat herself in his lap, and he squawked in his bewilderment. Granted, it wasn't novel for a demon to not understand concepts such as personal space, but he was sensitive about it and she wasn't any exception to his sensitivity.

"Get off me, you whore." He snarled, and she sneered.

"My, I didn't think warlocks were such prudes. Can't handle a little bit of contact, o' Master?" She giggled, and she cupped his cheeks in her hands. "All I really want from you is to answer my question, and I'll give you anything in my power in return; from satisfying your urges to planting reciprocating feelings into your desired to destroying an entire city. May as well pass the time."

Her lips brushed against his, and it was so tender his brain shorted. He hadn't noticed how beautiful the Queen was until then, even splattered with blood; her lily-white skin without blemish, and her silky hair perpetually smooth and neat, and her proportions perfect. Her lashes were thick and her eyes narrowed with the promise of carnal ecstasy and her lips pulled into a sultry grin. She really did, he thought, but images in his head he wasn't sure he wanted to see then. She was enough to shatter his discipline, tiny cracks that threatened to turn into fissures and crumble his walls if he wasn't wary.

It was what made demons so dangerous, he figured, how easily they unravelled humans.

"What is it?" He murmured finally.

"Why in the Lord's name did you elect cryomancy? Its practice being so difficult, cryomancers are few and far between- normally only by wealthy, elderly nobles with access to vast amounts of research and even more inclination to magick. Surely other crafts would've been much easier." She purred, and he felt her query in his throat as if she'd lodged a ball of dense cotton in his trachea.

"It hurts less." He croaked. "A wall of ice- my magick- disconnects my emotions. I don't have to cope with my grief if I don't feel it." He responded, and it was as if his confession stoked his stagnant heartache and pulled it to the surface. It felt heavy, like he was filled with lead and a tourniquet twisted around his chest. He couldn't breathe, he thought, his sorrow overwhelmed him so. And it was pathetic, he thought.

"Sensible," She murmured simply. "Such mercuriality would perturb myself as well."

"Was that supposed to be a compliment?" He grunted.

"It could be construed as such."

It was strange, he thought. He felt his discipline undo, as if he were a ball of tangled twine and she plucked at the strand that would've unwound him into a lame noodle. It frightened him, and he hoped he could've recomposed himself.

"... what am I to expect from Hell?" He inquired, wish forgotten then, and he felt her chuckle as it rumbled in her ribs.

"Eager? Splendid." She joked. "It's never a boring day. There's always some skirmish somewhere and I'd say at least half the population would love my head on a spit." He felt her frown then. "But it's terribly uncivilized. Humankind has buildings and an economy. In Hell? Hardly. It's as undeveloped as the jungle. It's embarrassing is what it is, humans having the upper hand. Your race had learned cooperation which allows you to create grandiose… _anything,_ truly. Demons have yet to realize our potential. As Queen, I hope to remedy this."

He frowned. He didn't expect a demon to have aspirations. He'd thought they were merely machines of carnage. Though then that he thought about it, such assumptions were silly. Demons were as sentient as humans. Simply because their disposition was more inclined to violence didn't mean they were mindless. In a sense, they were like slaves; from an outside perspective they seemed like mere tools but they had ambition and individuality _._

And fascination bloomed in his chest. He'd always been a curious individual; lusted for knowledge and the workings behind everything. And he was curious then about the Queen, like a moth to a flame.

"... Lilith, do tell me about yourself."

She barked out a laugh then, and he watched as her eyes curved into amused crescents. "Now that's unexpected! What happened to Mister Apathy?"

His eyebrow twitched then. "Never mind."

"No, no. I never said I refused. It was simply an expression of my astonishment." She chuckled. "I'm the youngest progeny of Isshin Shiba. I have an older brother Ichigo, and my sister and mother are deceased. My cousin Kaien was the king until I killed him and took his throne, and I've been queen for a little over a century now. My job as queen is… I'm not even sure. I believe it's more of a title than anything, bragging rights I suppose. Hell is a dog-eat-dog world, there's no time for geniality."

"I refuse to be outdone, especially by humankind. It's why I aspire to civilize my realm, make a real kingdom out of it instead of a transient, unincorporated plane. I want my kind to succeed."

She sounded so _hopeful,_ he thought, so motivated. She had purpose to live and it wasn't for retribution. The Queen wanted to be productive and develop, and it made him envious. He'd been consumed by his hatred for so long he'd forgotten what accomplishment had felt like.

There was a groan from behind them then, and they turned their attention to the estate master's son. He watched from the corner of his eye as the Queen sneered, and she slid off his lap as she strode over to him.

"Luuuuuppi, dearest. Are you awake?" She purred, lifted the estate master's son's chin with her knife as his eyes fluttered open. He heard a short gasp from him, and he watched as he burst into tears. "O' Master, come hither. This is _your_ vengeance; _you_ should exact it."

He stood then, padded to her and their captive and pulled the knife from her grip.

"You would make an excellent demon, o' Master Shirou."


	4. Finio

**A/N:** So... HitsuKarin Week got in the way and this is super late. y.

Toushirou Hitsugaya: Master and Toushirou in-dialogue

Karin Kurosaki: the Queen in narration, Karin Kurosaki and Lilith Shiba in-dialogue

* * *

He lay on his back with the Queen under his bicep. The only sound was that of their breath and the slow dribble of blood from the mangled lump of viscera that hung across the room. The- _former_ \- estate master's son's blood was smeared up to his elbows and splattered across his chest, spirals drawn across his pects in the then flaky residue by the Queen. It was oddly tranquil despite the pungent odors from the fresh corpse and he was sure it was because of their mutual fatigue. Torture drained him; though more emotionally. All his anger- the rage and depression he thought he'd long buried but so successfully reignited by the Queen- had subsided after the final plunge of her knife into the estate master's son's neck, leaked from the fissures with his life.

He would've resented the Queen if he could've. She'd chipped away his carefully crafted barriers, walls he'd reinforced since his sister's murder, and she'd annihilated it with minimal effort. It was pathetic, it really was, but he was too tired to care then.

The Queen was somehow a solace, a crutch. Like a thick comforter; swaddled and warmed him. He wondered then what he would've felt without her- if he even _would've_. She'd pulled his emotions to the surface and without her he still may've been an apathetic doll. Or perhaps he still would've been hateful, found no respite in his vengeance. And he wondered what he would've felt with some rest. He wasn't sure. The only emotion strong enough to be felt through his apathy before the Queen fractured it had been his hatred.

She groaned beside him then, and he watched her through the crack between his lids as she stretched. "I need to return to Hell before my throne is stolen." She murmured as she combed her nails through her bob.

"Bathe first." He croaked. "Your state is indignifying."

She laughed then and stood. "Far from. I look awful menacing caked in blood."

"You only look filthy." He rolled his eyes as he sat up.

"You may bathe if you wish. I'm sure you've long mastered water, if your craft is ice. Mysophobe,"

He raised his eyebrow. There wasn't such a word in his language, and he wondered if it was a demonic-born term. It wouldn't have been odd if it was. Demonic influence was mostly to magick and its users, and if magic were more widespread he was sure it would've influenced more of humanity but it wasn't, so little was truly known of demons.

It was silent between them then, and it was heavy. Meloncholic he would've described. Somehow the Queen had grown on him, and he knew it was the estate master's son whom they tortured and murdered together that birthed such companionship. He would've missed her, he knew, but he didn't dare say so. He knew the outcome of their contract, he knew she would've left, he just hadn't known how endeared she was.

"You could come, you know. I would love to have a demon like you in my legion, and I would love your help with my mission."

He frowned then. "No," he responded. "I still obligations here, and I can't discard them."

"One day you'll join me, whether you like it or not. May as well resolve it now rather than later."

"I'm aware."

"What will you do if those obligations were to vanish?"

He frowned then. "Then I'll have nothing tying me to this plane."

"Then would you join me?"

He would've, he thought, without a doubt. He hated his world, there was nothing for him as a slave sans his father. At least in Hell he could've done something, could've been with somebody he actually felt for. And he did feel for the Queen; what he could've called it, he wasn't sure.

The idea beckoned to him like a siren's call. He wanted more than anything to disregard his obligation to his father and emigrate. But even with fissures through his armor, he was still disciplined. He couldn't have left then, he was responsible and he refused to perpetuate the cycle of misery forced upon slaves.

He merely hummed in response then.

She pulled on her dress then and kissed the mummy in the corner, affectionately cooed her farewell before she turned and embraced him. "I eagerly await our next meeting, my demon."

His arms circled her waist then. "T'is mutual." He said.

She pushed him away then- and he felt the _cold_ then in all its cruelty as she did-, and he watched as tar bled from the floor. She melted into it with a sneer, disappeared, and the tar seeped away. He merely stood in empty, cold silence.

* * *

The Queen's absence felt like his sister had died again. It left him a hollow pit, but he hadn't anything left to plug the hole in his being with. The corpse in the ritual room had more to them than he did. He was without real purpose, even as he cared for his father the best he could've. There was no motivation, no achievement to be gained from hospice care for the terminally ill. It was an existence.

He again woke at the call of the morning bell like he always did, and he reached over to his father and shook them awake.

They didn't, not even after he broke every single one of their ribs with the compressions he'd administered. He was assisted by two other of his fellow slaves for their burial. He barely heard their condolences.

He escaped to the secret room in the abandoned wing afterwards. It felt surreal; as if time had left him and unreality took its place. Nothing was real to him. His ties to the world had been severed and 'he' no longer existed. 'He' had no purpose, naught but a fleshy husk.

He recalled his promise then. He may have been an oath-breaker, but his oath had been to a god that hadn't done jackshit for him. But his promise to the Queen was still intact. Their unholy contract- _she_ \- would've given his pathetic existence a purpose, one outside of hatred and blood-bound obligation.

He looked down at his hand, and water from the air aggregated and froze along the side of his thumb to a razor-sharp wedge. He brought his hand to his throat, and he sliced his jugular from ear-to-ear. He felt his warm blood spill over his chest in a split second, and he gurgled as his hands reflexively clutched his self-inflicted wound. He crumpled to the floor and laid on his side, watched through tunnel vision as his blood leaked before him. He was _cold_. Cold and empty and always had been, and a single tear slid over his sinuses as darkness- his _deliverance_ \- claimed him.

* * *

He gasped for air then, flew to his feet in his disorientation and spun as he collected himself. He was in a fiery desert, he saw. A landscape without an end in sight and pools of lava dotted the scape as fluorescent pinpricks. Relief washed over him as he realized it was _just_ Hell, and he sighed.

He needed to find the Queen, he thought. "Lilith!" He bellowed, and he felt strong arms hold him as they draped over his shoulders.

"Oh, it's wonderful to see you again." The Queen purred. "... no, it's wonderful to meet you. You're no longer Shirou, you're something else. Who are you, o' familiar stranger? Reinvent yourself."

"... Toushirou," He replied. "My name is Toushirou."

"Hello, Toushirou." She purred as she turned him in her arms. And she was beautiful, he saw. She was muscular, and she'd grown out her hair and tied it into a high ponytail and two pieces hung over her bosom. She was dressed in little; a simple skirt and her arms loops through a circular scarf and pulled over her breasts. And she stood with power, it seemed, would've struck fear in him with a mere change of inflection.

"To confess, I'm no longer Lilith." The Queen said, and she tangled her fingers and talons in the hair at the base of his skull.

His eyebrows raised then in his astonishment. "You've lost your throne?"

"No." She chuckled as she splayed her fingers over his chest, and he wrapped her in his arms. "I was the last Shiba. My brother killed our father and I killed him after he came for my queenship. I simply didn't wish to carry the name anymore. Now I am Karin Kurosaki, the fruit of life shrouded in darkness. I will be the rebirth of Hell."

He smiled down at her- he didn't remember the last time he smiled, and it felt strange-, and she brushed her lips against his.

"Join me, Toushirou, in my mission to aggrandize Hell."

He nodded then. "It is my purpose."


End file.
